


Hybristo

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, F/M, Fake AH Crew, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:23:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4404272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was a woman who'd never bothered to grow up. And he... was a cold-blooded killer with the eyes and gait of a python. She had never been more turned on in her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

You don't join a gang by being normal. You just don't. You have to be an addict, an ex-something chasing thrills, a failure to your race. Stupid. Broke. You could throw gullible as all hell up there too, and it'd probably stick. In her case, she was all of the above, but the  _point_... was that in no conceivable way could you be sane if your idea of a good time was blowing up a building.

That was something she understood. That was something she knew going into it.

Murder, arson, theft. Playing the titillating game of 'who's got the coke and who's ass do I have to cap to get it back'. Suburban housewives preferred the Mary-Kay style pyramid scheme to the one she got stuck with, and she didn't blame them for it one bit. If she could go back, she'd marry rich, drink martinis before noon, and pretend her husband wasn't sleeping around on her too. But those weren't the cards she was dealt.

The cards she was dealt meant trouble. Trouble not being a strung out junkie with a death wish, trouble sleeping at night, trouble remembering how to breathe, how to forgive and forget. And after all these years, she still couldn't figure out which fork to use at the dinner table when. That was a little less important. Probably.

Better example: she once knew guy with a god complex so severe he actually called himself 'The Messiah'. He painted his logo up everywhere he went and got real pissy whenever you called him James. That guy was a tool. She was happy they finally got rid of him. Even more happy about the fact that she was never once stuck with him, though that eventually bit her in the ass.

She knew a guy with an itchy trigger finger. One that frequented war in his head whenever things got quiet. Another who'd have to call you back later because currently he had too many dicks in his mouth to talk.

Not normal was to be expected in their motley crew of... six now, was it? Birds of a feather flock together. She expected it - they all expected it.

To a degree.

Being in a gang - they were pulling off some of the biggest heists the world had ever known, but 'organized' was far too flattering and inaccurate a word -, everyone she knew was typically somewhere in the yellow. Once in a while, an orange would appear and remind everyone just how normal they were by comparison. Very, very rarely was there ever a red. You had to be real fucked up to be in the red. Everyone had to hear  _Kill Bill_  sirens whenever you walked into a room and scaring a handful of America's Most Wanted was no small feat.

A red would get you killed. It was only by their leaders impeccable judgement that they managed to slip through in the first place.

Her partner of four months, three weeks, and two days was a bright, shiny red.

That was the last coherent thought she had, anyway, as his thumbs unbuttoned the fly of his pants. She could feel her heart beating in her chest as it mounted a pace that threatened to punch a hole straight through it - faster and faster and faster, until it finally got what it wanted... to stop, dead in it's tracks, at the sight of him. He had the eyes of a python, she'd swear to it. A cold-blooded killer who'd coil around her and swallow her whole if she'd let him.

She had  _never_  been more turned on in her life.


	2. Chapter 2

Zeroing her scope always reminded her of the first time she'd ever used an eyedropper. Well, technically, she'd not been the one to use it. It was her mom in the memory, forcing her head back to the point of pain and hovering it over her pupil so she was forced to watch it bubble before everything went fuzzy and white. It was a classic case of rubbing something stupid into your eye like stupid kids do, but to Ray, who used her eyes a lot, some might say on a regular basis, it was enough to make her cry and snap away, wet snot and tears making it hard to breath much less feel her way out of a room. Her mom chased her, pinned her head against the sweating wall of their apartment, and continued to administer her medicine. She'd watch as the head of the tiny, plastic drop filled with pressure until finally it burst out onto her eye. Every day, twice a day, for her own good until it was all gone.

It was a lesson in self-control she didn't soon forget.

Silver streaks marrying her arms and back from her mom's hot pink acrylic nails, she eventually learned it was better to lift her lid up higher, straighten her back, and grit her teeth against it. Once it was over, she could blink a few times, realize it could have been worse, and wait for the next dose. So when her eye got tired from squinting down her rifle for too long and her shoulder ached from holding it in place, she always thought of it. The same basic rules applied.

"Ray,  _please_ tell me you've got visual."

She reached up with her freehand to press the small, blueish-gray button on her earpiece. Seriously, it was like walkie-talkie technology and it was throwing off her game, couldn't they spring for something a little better? It wasn't traceable, that was the whole point, but for someone who needed to have their hands on deck at all times it was a hindrance. "Waiting on you."

"You're gonna be seeing that ride any second now," There was a mumble on the other end as he conferred with the others, making dead certain that all their ducks were in a row. Ray wasn't entirely sure where he was. Up in the air with Jack? That seemed the only place he could have had any better a view of the damn thing than her. If that was the case, there was something they weren't telling her. She opened her mouth to ask, but Geoff cut her off, frantic now that he was on the spot. "They're coming around the corner, Ray, on your mark! Three, two-"

Ray closed her eyes, soaking in the unmistakable sounds of rubber burning on asphalt and sirens. In that split second before her cue, she filled her lungs completely with air then pushed it all back out again. All she had to do was cut off the head. Take out the pack leader and the rest piled up like spilt dominoes. One shot, one bullet, no mistakes and the people below left with no earthly idea where it'd come from. Her finger curled around the cold, smooth press of the trigger.

_"_ _One!"_

Cars squealed around the corner, one right after the other. She closed her sights on theirs, a viper black sports car that their residential matchstick man had insisted on as apart of his 'character'. Ray was no expert, but it was overkill and he was kind of a dick. It was a good thing Geoff let him get away with doing whatever he wanted on the job or Gavin would have been stuck in a gold minivan, complete with kids geared up for soccer in the back.

He was going to cry like a baby when he had to get rid of that thing.

It only took the time to blink for the view to be obstructed by a flock of red, white, and blue cruisers that screamed and cried out with their flashy lights. They were all in a line so far, not exactly the birds-flying-south formation she was looking for. Ray took a step back; she only needed one to pull ahead-

"What are you  _doing_? Take the fucking shot!"

Furiously, she ripped the earpiece off her head and chucked it. Hadn't that jackass learned yet not to screech in her ear? She could still hear him screaming into it from where it landed on the attic floor - it almost made her squeeze the trigger out of spite.

None of them were pulling ahead. One was trying to gain, but it just couldn't make it, not with the shotty engine it was strapped with. At the rate they were going, they'd just end up blocking everything and make it that much harder to turn around later. They always turned around later.

Fuck it.

She let one fly, right into the tire of the one she'd been keeping her eye on. It spun out of control, the cars behind it crashing harshly against it's side while the police that flanked pulled ahead - but only for a second.

Ray got to her feet immediately after, tugging her rifle free of the tactical hole in her nest. It was obvious to her that they'd have to coordinate a serpentine of some kind so she could get in front of the rest of them and start picking off whoever was left, but something had knocked her flat on her ass. Everything was a blur, and Ray had to blink a few times to get the world to sit right again. She crawled over on her elbows back to the window.

Everything had gone up in flames. A red, cloudy mushroom shook the neighborhood's shingles before it was sucked right back into the earth, leaving behind skeletons, frames, and ash. Well, they weren't being followed anymore. Those fucking dickholes.

She put the earpiece back on, only to be met by joyous laughter.

"That good enough for you?!"

It took Geoff a long while before he could speak again, short of breath and sounding more like a weasel than usual. "Whoever did that is a fucking genius!"

"Fuck all of you. I'm leaving for the safe house, try not to get yourselves killed. Or do. I don't care anymore."

"We'll be there soon, kid," his voice broke off into laughter again, though this time it was muffled by the sound of helicopter blades beginning to turn. So she wasn't wrong, he was in the air. "We'll be there soon."

Ray did her best to pull herself together and collect her things. It was a wonder the nest wasn't on fire. Or maybe it was, who could tell with all the smoke in the air? She took another deep breath that would probably kill her later. The rush always made her jumpy after. It was under her skin again, making her itch in the moment, making her heart pump faster and harder as it coursed through her blood like a freshly caught disease. She'd argue the dust settling was always the worst part.

Time to make or break.

The stairs were noisy, she thought, because the house was old and they were wooden, no carpet, just wood. They made her footfalls sound heavier than they really were. Her nests were always shitholes. Forget the privilege of a fancy car like Gavin's, she'd get a cat-piss infested crack house to hide out in.

Her partner would have to take some of the blame for that. He required a very special work space, and by special she meant relatively soundproof and a place where blood wouldn't go amiss. No one would go searching here. Who would want to?

She stopped at the bottom, surveying the living room - if you could call a moldy couch and a broken end table that - and taking note that it was... exactly the way she'd left it. He'd already cleaned up. Good. That meant she wouldn't vomit all over the place at the sight of someone's spleen tucked in saran wrap for him to eat later, Hannibal Lecter style. Was the spleen the part you ate or was it the ass? He probably knew.

Ray stopped and leaned her body against the rail of the stairwell, imagining him working his magic right there, in the middle of the floor. She instantly felt woozy. Last time she'd been present for the show and he'd tried to hand her the knife. The guy was all sweaty and tight lipped. She'd told him, too. She didn't have a problem with it, you've got to do what you've got to do, but there was just something about blood being outside a body - gag, she was gonna gag thinking about it.

So much for his consideration.

It was starting to smell like burnt popcorn. Where the hell was he?

"Ryan?" she called, her voice - a little shaky. She wasn't dizzy. Ray shook her head. She was wound up and jumpy, and she just really, really wanted to get out of there. Out the back door, down the ladder, through the alley. Rule number one of committing a crime, put yourself as far away from it as possible, right?

From out of one of the doors down the hall, her partner emerged, looking like he'd just come back from using the bathroom and was leisurely air drying his hands. After all that, he was so calm. He had only one hair out of place, which he tucked back behind his ear, and his eyes were lidded in that way that told a story. If he was distressed at all by the explosives that went off outside, he didn't show it. Geoff must have told him what happened.

He pointed at the door, closing it behind him. "Don't go in there."

"Don't worry."

Time slowed with Ryan. Geoff went a mile a minute, he went... whatever the opposite of that was. A mile an hour didn't have the same ring to it. Ray's right hand twitched as she watched him stuff something into his pocket.

He walked the distance between them, lifting the rifle from her hands. He always did that,  _lift_  it and carry it down a big flight of stairs for her. In the four months she'd worked with him, she still couldn't tell if it was because he didn't trust her or if he was being a gentlemen. She'd stopped trying to figure him out on their three month anniversary. It was easier to swim down his stream than up it.

Frozen like a deer in the headlights, she closed her hands into fists, fists that otherwise would have been preoccupied by her gun. Ryan was a little too close for comfort, and honestly? The room was starting to feel hot, like he'd gone and sucked all the air out of it. He always had this way of making her feel like an ant under a magnifying glass. The adrenaline wasn't helping that. The guy had a presence, she'd give him that.

It was only when he backed away that she realized how shallow her breathing had gotten.

Check that off as 'something creepy Ryan did' that she'd be telling everyone else later.

"We should go." he said, voice low and smooth. Ray couldn't think of an appropriate metaphor for it fast enough, only able to think that it sounded... it was just such an odd trait for him to have. Her skin was crawling a bit. Yeah, that was the feeling. Definitely.

"Right."

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave a review letting me know what you think so far! Any criticism is appreciated.


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